


Little Glimpses

by sdk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Background Harry/Draco, Background Pansy/Astoria, Bingo, F/F, Ficlet, Fluff, Infidelity, Non-Linear Narrative, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-09 10:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1979139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdk/pseuds/sdk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of related ficlets that give little glimpses into the relationship of Pansy and Hermione. Non-Linear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a quick Bingo game that Torino10154 and I challenged each other with. My first claim is Pansy/Hermione and there should be at least five drabbles/ficlets in this series. Unbeta'd, so please feel free to point out any errors/typos/embarrassing things. <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slytherins can be just as stubborn as Gryffindors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Wet.

Pansy stood opposite Hermione’s door, leaning against a lamp post. Tendrils of hair stuck to her cheeks, wet from the earlier rain. Hermione watched her from the window on the second floor, her heart thumping and her stomach a twisted mass of nerves. 

She’d heard Pansy knock. “Might as well open up, Granger. I’m not leaving,” she’d said, her voice spelled to float through Hermione’s door and whisper against her ear. And then Hermione had watched as Pansy had set herself up next to the lamp post across the pavement, took out a cigarette and smoked, even through the afternoon rain. She hadn’t cast a spell, just stood there as the skies opened, and let herself get drenched. Her black dress clung to her stomach, her hips and breasts, her hair matted to her head. Her dark eyes never left Hermione’s second story window, as if she could see through the wards and privacy spells Hermione held in place. As if nothing could hold Pansy at bay. 

It was true. Nothing ever could. 

After the rain had calmed and the sun peeked its head from behind a cloud, Hermione started down the stairs, not knowing why, only certain she was making a mistake. _Just let her rot out there,_ she thought. _More than she deserves,_ she tried to convince herself. But Hermione’s heart controlled her feet and kept her moving, one foot after the other until she faced the blank expanse of her front door. 

She felt the cool press of metal against her palm before she even realised she’d reached out to grab the doorknob. Her stomach clenched. Pansy’s voice appeared out of nowhere once more, as if she knew Hermione was on the precipice, a heartbeat away from stepping back and fleeing to her kitchen for a nice cup of tea. 

“Please,” Pansy whispered. “Hermione.” 

Hermione closed her eyes and pulled the door open.


	2. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If only she’d known there were more pleasurable ways to keep Pansy’s mouth busy, Hermione might have suggested this ages ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Burning.

Hermione knees dug into the red velvet cushions on either side of Pansy’s thighs. A fluttery curtain at her back was their only privacy, and yet still, Hermione couldn’t seem to stop. She felt out of control, alcohol and desire thrumming through her, her skin burning red-hot. Pansy’s hands roamed everywhere, along her hips, her back, tugging Hermione’s blouse free from her skirt. One by one Pansy flicked the buttons of Hermione’s top open until her bra was exposed, the tops of her breasts spilling out over simple white lace. 

Hermione expected a comment on her underthings; Pansy was never without a sarcastic barb or two up her sleeve, and Hermione might have worn something racier had she planned to end up like this. Not that Hermione Granger ever thought she’d end up in the back of club, having it off with Pansy Parkinson, whom before this night, the most complementary way Hermione had spoken of her was as a competent co-worker. A competent co-worker she just happened to despise. Someone on whom she wouldn’t mind casting a permanent Silencio to shut her up on most occasions. 

No cutting quip came, though. Pansy was too busy kissing down the column of Hermione’s neck, lips skimming along heated skin towards Hermione’s breasts. Pansy pushed one bra cup down and flicked her tongue over Hermione’s nipple and Hermione flooded with pure need. 

If only she’d known there were more pleasurable ways to keep Pansy’s mouth busy, she might have suggested this ages ago. 

Hermione laughed a little and Pansy pulled back, narrowing her eyes. 

“It’s not what you think,” Hermione said. “Go back to what you were doing. God, please, Pansy.” 

“If you can talk at all, I’m doing this wrong,” Pansy said. 

She slipped her hand between them, beneath Hermione’s skirt, her fingertips grazing along Hermione’s inner thigh. Hermione inhaled sharply, and then she was there, rubbing her through damp cotton knickers. Hermione’s thighs flexed; she rocked her hips, and her laughter quickly turned to unabashed moans. 

“There we go, Granger,” Pansy whispered into her skin. With a tug, Pansy shoved the gusset of Hermione’s knickers to one side and Hermione rode Pansy’s fingers until she became a quivering, sticky mess.


	3. Blackberries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione wasn’t used to seeing Pansy like this, away from dark alcoves and the scent of whisky and stale cigarettes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: One.

Pansy smiled, her lips stained with lipstick and blackberries, a bramble twisted into her hair. The rising sun shone brightly behind her like a halo. Hermione wasn’t used to seeing Pansy like this, away from dark alcoves and the scent of whisky and stale cigarettes. Hermione inhaled the fresh dewy smell of morning. She curled her fingers into the soft ground she lay on and brushed a thumb over Pansy’s face, smearing dirt along her cheekbone. 

“Granger, you brute,” Pansy murmured, but she didn’t move or try to shove Hermione’s hand away. “You’re making me a mess.”

“I like you a mess,” Hermione said. “It suits you.” 

“Lies.” Pansy sniffed. She lay down on her back next to Hermione and her eyes flickered up to the dawning sky. 

“This wasn’t what I was expecting,” Hermione said. Pansy raised an eyebrow. “The blackberry picking, I mean.”

“My grandfather used to take me when I was a child,” Pansy said. She didn’t offer any further explanation, and Hermione tamped down her questions. She had plenty of time to learn Pansy’s secrets.

Instead, she placed one hand over Pansy’s and after a heartbeat, Pansy turned her palm up and laced their fingers together.


	4. Another Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's confused and the gin isn't helping. Neither is the sly smile Pansy keeps throwing her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Lonely.

“What’s it like?” Hermione leaned forward, nearly slipping off her stool. She recovered, hopefully quickly enough for Pansy to not notice—not that she gave a lick what Pansy thought of her—and decided that this drink would be her last. A martini had sounded like a good idea at the time. It was an adult drink. And one that didn’t cause the bartender’s eyes to flash in amusement as had happened when she’d first tried to order butterbeer. She didn’t see what was so funny about butterbeer. Not that she cared a lick what the bartender thought of her either. 

“You’ll have to be more specific, Granger,” Pansy said, reminding her that Hermione had indeed asked a question. The club was too loud, too hot, too smoky. Hermione didn’t even know why she’d agreed to come, only she wasn’t certain she could face another lonely night in her empty flat, and her supervisor was starting to frown upon her enthusiastic embrace of the term ‘workaholic’. Who knew Unspeakables would be so concerned with leisure time?

Only, she’d assumed there’d be a whole group going, and that Pansy had invited her out of pity or to take the mickey, or to laugh along with the bartender when she tried to order what apparently was a child’s drink. 

But, as it turned out, it was just the two of them and Hermione was more confused than ever. The gin wasn’t helping. Neither were the sly little smiles Pansy occasionally shot in her direction, as she was doing now. It made Hermione feel funny and her stomach go all fluttery like she’d swallowed a Snitch. 

“Working in The Star Room?” Hermione had only glimpsed it once during the daily morning spin as everyone shuffled off to their workspaces. It had looked like a great chasm of inky black only dotted by a few tiny sparks of glitter, a vastness that could swallow one whole. She didn’t see how anyone would fancy it, but Pansy’s eyes lit up and her lips spread into a smile, and Hermione wondered if she was the first person to ever ask her. 

“Oh, but you know I can’t tell you.” Pansy’s eyes twinkled mysteriously and Hermione wanted to thwack her on her arm, but she didn’t think it would be very appropriate. It wasn’t as if they were even friends. 

“I’m an Unspeakable too, as well you know.” Hermione huffed. You’d think Pansy would have noticed all the times she went out of her way to pop her head into The Time Room and comment on the state of Hermione’s hair or her robes or forgetting to eat or some such nonsense. 

“Hmm. I could perhaps show you,” Pansy said. She leaned close and pushed a lock of Hermione’s hair out of her face. Hermione’s heart jumped and she nearly fell off her stool again, but Pansy steadied her with a hand to her waist. “Maybe later, then.” 

Hermione swallowed. “Thanks,” she said. Thought she wasn’t certain for what. All she knew is her chest had gone tight and her skin flushed hot beneath her blouse where Pansy touched her, and she’d lied to herself earlier. 

She definitely needed another drink.


	5. For Her, Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The image seared itself on the back of Hermione’s eyelids with startling clarity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Lies.

The image seared itself on the back of Hermione’s eyelids with startling clarity: The crack of the bathroom door. The shine of Astoria’s blonde hair as it fell free in perfect curls around her face. The dance of Pansy’s fingers across her stomach, her nails catching on fabric. (Hermione felt the tickle on her own skin, the jump in her stomach, the dampness between her thighs.) Astoria’s eyelashes fluttering and her pouty pink lips. And worst of all was the curve of Pansy’s smile, soft and delicate. A smile that had made Hermione’s knees weak and her skin break out in goosebumps. A smile she thought had been reserved for her and her alone. 

Lies. All of it. 

And now she was stuck at her best friend’s engagement party, pretending to be far more interested in the canapés rather than tracking Pansy’s every move. She tried to resist, tried to distract herself with conversation, tried to dance with Ginny, feigned interest in Neville’s curriculum for the upcoming school year. But her gaze always slid to the side to catch the swing of Pansy’s hair as she tossed it over her shoulder; her ears perked up with the peel of Pansy’s laughter. Which happened in alarming amounts. Draco must be so damn funny. Hermione must remember to congratulate Harry on finding himself an absolutely _hilarious_ husband. 

She didn’t realize her unhappiness showed all over her face until Harry led her into his kitchen and pulled her into a hug. She closed her eyes and buried her head into his shoulder. 

“I’ll ask her to leave, shall I?” he said softly. 

Hermione groaned. “God, is it that obvious?”

“Only to me,” he said. He stroked her back. Hermione’s tears came in a rush, thick and heavy, catching in her throat.


	6. A Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione knew at Pansy’s first knock that she’d been a fool to believe it would ever stop hurting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Frustrated.

Hermione offered Pansy tea and a drying charm. Pansy refused the latter and sat at Hermione’s kitchen table shivering, hand curled around her steaming cup. She always was a bit dramatic. It caused a painful fondness to well up in Hermione’s chest and she tried to remember a time before when it had annoyed her. 

“You took your time,” Pansy said. 

“You didn’t have to wait,” Hermione snapped. Two pink spots rose high on Pansy’s cheeks and Hermione took a calming breath, though it couldn’t entirely erase her frustration. It had been three weeks. And finally Hermione had thought that maybe it wouldn’t hurt so badly after another three. 

And then Pansy had showed up. Hermione knew at Pansy’s first knock that she’d been a fool to believe it would ever stop hurting. 

Pansy took a sip of her tea. The cup clattered on the saucer as she set it back down. 

“Why did you come?” 

“I didn’t do it. What you saw. I couldn’t—I stopped.”

The curl of Pansy’s fingers—her smile. Astoria’s pale skin and pink lips. It all flashed before Hermione’s eyes and she turned her head. 

“You did enough,” Hermione whispered.

“I know.”

“Why did you wait to tell me?” 

“I thought it was better…I thought—I’ll only hurt you, Granger. In the long run. Better to get it over with.”

Hermione looked up. Pansy’s eyeliner was smeared, black and thick. She remembered the day Pansy had discovered Hermione’s Muggle makeup. How she’d painted her lips with the red lipstick Hermione had bought on a whim, but never found the courage to wear. How she’d begged Hermione to teach her about mascara and eyeshadow even though Hermione hadn’t a clue herself, not really. (Pansy had taken to it anyway, and declared it much better than glamours and charms that always wore off before midday.) How she’d practiced her technique on Hermione herself. (Hermione had always thought makeup was a bit silly, but with Pansy’s fingertips grazing over Hermione’s cheeks and lips, and her sweet breath against Hermione’s skin, and her kisses, soft and tender, to properly smudge the lipstick…well, Hermione had found a whole new appreciation for it.) 

Hermione slipped her hand over Pansy’s clenched one. Pansy smiled, but it was pained. 

“Hermione. You called me Hermione before.” 

“Hermione,” Pansy said, voice quiet and small, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t.” 

Pansy turned her hand over, interlaced their fingers, and Hermione squeezed. 

It wasn’t the end, but a start.


End file.
